


lover of the light

by rheniumvolution



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rheniumvolution/pseuds/rheniumvolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe they had always been working up to this moment. This moment, now, is just a culmination of all that hard work. Maybe it’s impossible to fall in love with someone all at once. It takes time. It takes weeks and months and late nights and early mornings and traipsing out of the rink, grinning and euphoric and leaning on each other. They say it takes a lot. But, if he’s being honest, now it just sort of feels like the easiest thing in the world.</p>
<p>It’s the easiest thing to stand, to move forward, to watch the fight drain out of Bittle’s shoulders and now he just seems tired. Jack wonders how long Bittle’s been in love with him and why haven’t they been doing this for longer and what a waste of time and oh--</p>
<p>Bittle’s looking at him and he must see something that gives it away, because he smiles up at Jack and Jack is helpless to smile back. Bittle is incandescent, always has been, but Jack is not afraid anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lover of the light

01

 

Jack doesn’t know when it started. It could have been that day, in the kitchen, with the sunlight and the whole place smelling like apples and cinnamon, with Bittle’s soft smile—and oh, having Eric Bittle’s constant attention focused on him felt like drowning, or looking at the sun for too long—and the air turning gold. Not gold because of the sunset. Not gold because of the spices. Gold because of the halo around Bittle’s head like it’d been there his entire life. Gold because of the flashes of teeth in a smile. Golden hearts laid bare on golden branches. The air tasted like something holy. Yeah, it could have been then. Maybe that was the day he finally put a name to the heat in his veins. But also maybe it wasn’t.

 

Maybe it was when they first met, and Bittle had wormed his way between all of the cracks in their group, made his home amongst all the broken bits and started fixing them. For so long, Jack had felt like a marionette puppet that was cut loose. And sure, that meant that there was no longer anyone pulling the strings, but it also meant that he had no stability. He’d been dropped and left for dead and then, when he finally started to get used to the darkness, Bittle came in, all burning energy and light, and Jack was left to blink in the sudden glow. He’s been finding his way back to standing again. It’s easier to do now than it ever was in the dark.

 

Maybe it was when Eric first skated with him; when he first really skated with him. He moved so easily. There’s a certain brute force surrounding hockey, something Jack is all too familiar with, but there’s a gracefulness there, too. Grace that isn’t natural. Grace that is hours of practicing until your feet are blistered and bleeding from it. That is something he knows; something you notice. Eric has it. In excess.

 

It stuns him sometimes, how easy it is. How easy it was to fall; how quickly it happened. How whole it makes Jack feel, to love him. It doesn’t fix everything and he doubts it ever could. But god, god it helps. This comfortable warmth spreading loose and easy through his limbs. It helps.

 

He thinks maybe he could live with it. He could live with Eric not knowing. Loving him, quiet and warm, is enough. Maybe Jack could make of himself a home for Bittle to stay in when the world becomes too much. He doesn’t want Eric to untangle his strings for him, but maybe he could help. Maybe he could. There were a lot of things Eric could maybe do, and a lot of things he won’t. Where that line is, Jack doesn’t know anymore.

 

Other times, it hurts. It feels like nothing he’s ever experienced. This bone deep ache pulsing through your ribs, through your veins. Eric smiles at him, soft and warm and so, so real. His heart shatters and his breath feels like it’s hiding in the bottom of his lungs.

 

 

02

 

“Bitty, wake the fuck up, man!”

 

Jack leans against the doorway and watches Ransom and Holster jumping on Bittle’s bed. He tries not to smile.

 

“Language, Ransom,” Bitty murmurs, pressing his face further into the pillow. Something in Jack’s chest squeezes uncomfortably. “It’s Saturday. Go ‘way.”

 

“Practice, Bitty,” says Holtz. “You promised breakfast.”

 

They’re like puppies, he thinks. Or small children. He lives in a house of puppies and, for some reason, they’ve all decided to lean on him. Him and Eric. (Jack doesn’t often like to admit it, but he knows how he almost unconsciously makes sure everyone is eating well, is studying, is _good_. All of the soft looks and the hand ruffling hair and the “Ransom, get your goddamn shoes off the couch, for the last time.” “Yes, Dad” isn’t planned, never was, but it feels right.)

 

“I promise a lotta things, boys. Now, out, so I can actually wake up without y’all staring at me.”

 

“We won’t stare—“

 

“Promise!”

 

“Out,” Jack says, and the boys trail out of the room with their tails tucked between their legs. “You’ve got an hour and a half until practice, Bittle. But you did promise them pancakes.”

 

“My only regret,” Eric says, rolling over and grinning sleepily at Jack through half closed eyes. Oh, no. Oh, he really needs to leave before he does something not at all thought through. He smiles back without thinking.

 

Eric still hasn’t looked away, but he raises an eyebrow and Jack clears his throat, definitely not blushing. “See you downstairs,” he chokes out. He has got to get some air. Plus, practice. Ugh.

 

 

03

 

“Bittle, I’m worried.”

 

Eric doesn’t turn, bloodshot eyes still focused on the laptop screen in front of him, three coffee cups in varying states of emptiness next to him on the desk. Jack is standing in his doorway, brow furrowed and arms crossed. Eric looks a mess, and Jack wants to curl around him protectively, but he’ll settle for getting him fed.

 

“When aren’t you?”

 

“Not the point.” Jack responds, and despite his annoyance, the corners of his mouth twitch. “Do you know when I left the Haus this morning?”

 

He knows that if Eric would look at him, he’d laugh and tell him to get that look off his face or it’ll get stuck that way. The one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, “I’m not fucking playing here, Shitty. Give me my keys. No, it isn’t funny; you’re not cute; I need those,” look. But Eric isn’t looking at him, because Eric is panicking over his English paper.

 

Bitty doesn’t answer his question, so Jack keeps on going. “I left at six am, Bittle. Six am. And do you know what you were doing when I left? At six goddamn am?” His jaw clenches. He’s frustrated, not mad, but definitely frustrated. Bittle needs to take better care of himself. He needs to focus less on caring for _literally every other person_ before himself and Jack knows that Bittle knows that, because Jack has told him this before.

 

Bittle winces, because, yeah. He knows. He still won’t look at Jack.

 

“You were doing exactly what you’re doing right now. Your paper. Which isn’t even due for another two days. Do you know what time it is, Eric?”

 

Bittle turns then, no doubt ready to make a snappy comeback of the exact time it is, thank you. Except— confusion spreads across his face. He honestly doesn’t know. Jack’s own stern look softens into something softer. He wishes he could smooth the worry and shock from Eric’s face; press a kiss to the trembling curve of his bottom lip. But he can’t. So he settles for reaching out, hand covering Bittle’s shoulder.

 

“It’s almost seven pm, Eric.”

 

Eric lets out a breath that drops his shoulders a few inches.

 

“Scoot over,” says Jack, and pushes Bittle’s rolling chair back. He saves the document quickly and shuts down the laptop. No way is Bittle losing any of the work that’s stressing him out this much. Not on Jack’s watch. “Now, come here,” and Jack is tugging Eric away from the chair.

 

“Where am I going? Where are we going?” Bittle says as Jack continues in his route, pulling Bittle through the hallway and down the stairs and into the kitchen. He’d grabbed some left overs and stuck them in the microwave once he’d realized that Bittle hadn’t ingested anything but coffee all day long. The look on Eric’s face might have been adorable if concern wasn’t the only emotion Jack’s capable of at this moment in time.

 

“Eat,” Jack says.

 

Eric eats quickly, but robotically, like he’s not really thinking about what he’s putting in his mouth. His entire body screams exhaustion, and Jack feels the protectiveness that’s been present all evening spike again.

 

“Drink,” Jack says, and Bittle does. Something that isn’t coffee. It’s water, of course, but the important part is that it isn’t coffee.

 

“Be merry?” Eric asks, after he finishes the glass, and Jack offers the barest hint of a smile in return. He can’t help it. Bittle’s constant attempts to cheer him up work, more often than not. Sometimes he thinks they know each other too well, for two people who are barely friends.

 

“No,” he says. “ _Sleep_. You can be merry later.”

 

Bittle nods, and Jack smiles at him a little brighter.

 

“I’m gonna—” Eric gestures towards the stairs before stumbling in the vague direction of his room. When he bumps into the wall and mumbles a curse, Jack laughs lightly and Bittle grumbles incoherently at him.

 

“Goodnight,” says Jack, “ _Bien dormir, mon coeur_.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s a bad idea. It’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

 

 

04 

 

He thinks he should have known, honestly. When he finally puts a name to it, whenever that is, it’s like coming home. Eric has always been a port in a storm. And maybe they aren’t in a storm, exactly, but this love—and it’s love. It’s love; it’s love.—is a safe harbor nonetheless.

 

Maybe, at the end of the day, that’s what love is. The ability to take the deepest parts of yourself and lay them all out, strip yourself bare and vulnerable and trembling, and know that you won’t be left alone. Love stays. Or it should, at least.

 

Bittle hasn’t left yet. It’s starting to be weird.

 

It’s weird because Jack’s dad was never there to begin with. His mother stayed as much as possible. She loves him, he knows. His mother loves him and his dad—his dad tries. But that isn’t enough. Not really. Kent left. Kent always fucking left. Even when Jack was the one to finally realize that whatever they were wasn’t healthy, wasn’t good—well, Kent was long gone before that conversation ever even started.

 

Eric knows a lot. Not everything, of course, but more than most people. Shitty is always going to know the most—even more than his parents and doctors, because he tells the truth to Shitty.

 

If Eric asked, Jack thinks he would tell him the truth. That might be love. It’s definitely terrifying.

 

“What’s on your mind, Zimmerman?” Eric asks, moving around the kitchen quickly and with a grace that isn’t all practiced; is part natural.

 

“Hm?” He asks, and Bittle simply smacks him lightly on the hand with a wooden spoon.

 

“Oh no, I know you far too well for that. Out with it—” a pause “—if you wanna talk about it, that is. Don’t make me make you talk about anything you aren’t ready for.” Jack thinks, briefly, that Eric Bittle is cute when he’s nervous. “But I’m here, pretty much always. If you need someone to talk to, that is.”

 

The silence after Bittle wraps up his mini-speech just borders on awkward before Jack says, almost too quietly, “You ever think about… leaving?”

 

Bittle stops whisking.

 

Someone outside is walking a dog—there’s the faint sound of encouragements and barking. The sun is beginning to sink in the sky, so the air is turning orange with it. Faint music is streaming from Shitty’s room, and the TV buzzes happily in the background.

 

Jack begins to think he said something wrong.

 

“It took me a long time to learn, Zimmerman, but it’s important: no matter what you’re feeling, no matter how scary it is, if you want something—if there’s any chance it’ll make you happy—don’t run from it.” The sun is reflecting merrily off of the snow outside and the heater in the corner of the Haus creaks again. The sound makes Bittle jump. Jack watches the muscles shift in Bittle’s back when he rolls his shoulders. Eric laughs a little, “Should take my own advice.”

 

And that—well that’s something. “You?” asks Jack, honestly confused. “What are you afraid of?”

 

“Besides checks, you mean?” Bittle asks, glancing over at him. “And spiders?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack smiles, “’Sides those.”

 

Eric’s spine tenses, and he wipes his hands on a towel. He takes a breath and looks over to Jack with something akin to determination in his eyes. It feels electric. It feels like change. Eric is looking at Jack like he looks at the ice sometimes and it makes his hands shake.

 

“You, sometimes,” says Eric. “Sometimes I’m afraid of you.”

 

Jack stands, slowly, and thinks about leaving. Eric is facing him now; the batter behind him long forgotten. His heart thuds erratically and painfully in his chest. The words ring so loudly in his head it’s like he’s never heard anything else. Sometimes I’m afraid of you. He wants to ask ‘Why?’ He wants to apologize.

 

Then Eric’s chin lifts and his eyes flick to Jack’s mouth and back up to his eyes and Jack realizes the look in Eric’s eyes. It’s a look he gets a lot. He’s never had a name for it. Before now, that is, he never understood what this look meant.

 

The thing about photography is that it captures a single moment and maybe the picture isn’t whole, but it’s there. You won’t lose it. Memories fade and disappear, but when they’re slipping out of your grasp, you can look to photographs and remember. It’s a way to process experience. It’s a way to understand.

 

Jack wants to take a picture of his own face the moment he realizes Eric Bittle is in love with him, too.

 

Maybe it had happened that day when they first cooked together. Or maybe it was when they had first met. Or when they first skated together. Maybe it was one of those times. Maybe it was none of those times.

 

Maybe they had always been working up to this moment. This moment, now, is just a culmination of all that hard work. Maybe it’s impossible to fall in love with someone all at once. It takes time. It takes weeks and months and late nights and early mornings and traipsing out of the rink, grinning and euphoric and leaning on each other. They say it takes a lot. But, if he’s being honest, now it just sort of feels like the easiest thing in the world.

 

It’s the easiest thing to stand, to move forward, to watch the fight drain out of Bittle’s shoulders and now he just seems tired. Jack wonders how long Bittle’s been in love with him and why haven’t they been doing this for _longer_ and what a _waste of time_ and _oh_ \--

 

Bittle’s looking at him and he must see something that gives it away, because he smiles up at Jack and Jack is helpless to smile back. Bittle is incandescent, always has been, but Jack is not afraid anymore.

 

Eric’s hand reaches up to frame his cheek. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

 

Bittle doesn’t complain when Jack backs him against the counter, but he does complain when Jack does nothing but stare at him for a few seconds.

 

“I’m sorry,” says Jack. “I’m sorry. I just— you— and I and— you’re sure? You’re sure about this? Because I know I’m sort of a mess, still, and I’m bad at talking about things and sometimes I need to be alone and sometimes I can be clingy and—“

 

Bittle presses his mouth to Jack’s and it feels like a reassurance and a promise. It feels like every good thing Jack always told himself he would never have.

 

“Jack,” Bittle says, and he inhales sharply. “If we’re going to do this—and _yes_ , I’m sure. I want to do this—you’re going to have to trust me.”

 

“Okay,” says Jack. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I can do that.”

 

 

05

 

“You’re going to be late,” Bittle says, but he doesn’t push Jack away when his fingers skate along the warm skin of Eric’s hips. “Seriously, you’re gonna—“ Jack’s hand dips into the small of Eric’s back and tugs him closer, kissing a path down his neck.

 

“They can wait,” Jack says against the column of Bittle’s throat, basking in the familiar taste and smell and feeling of Eric in his arms.

 

“Nope, nuh uh,” Bittle slips away from the circle of Jack’s arms and points a finger at him. “This is a very important interview, Jack Zimmerman. You cannot be late.”

 

Jack pouts a little. He’s not proud enough that he can’t admit that. Hell, when your boyfriend is Eric Bittle and he said you couldn’t kiss him, you’d pout, too, he thinks. Bittle’s fake stern look fades, and he moves closer, straightening Jack’s tie. Jack settles his hands on Bittle’s hips, tilts his neck back, and lets him.

 

When he’s finished, Bittle presses a tiny kiss to the underside of Jack’s jaw. “Go,” he whispers, “I’ll be here when you get back. Gotta do laundry and—” he moves away from Jack, pulling out his phone—“gotta make something for dessert. Rans and Holster are coming over later. You’re on dinner duty, though. My mom’s coming over this weekend, too, I should set up the guest room.”

 

Jack smiles at him and feels something settle in his stomach.

 

“Hey,” he says, and Bittle looks up from his phone and frowns.

 

“What are you still doing here? The interview’s in, like, twenty minutes! Jack!”

 

Jack crosses the room quickly and gathers Eric into his arms one last time, kissing him quickly. “I love you,” he murmurs against Bittle’s mouth, kissing him again. And again and again. When he finally pulls back, Bittle is flushed and bright-eyed, and one hand is fisted tightly in the cotton of Jack’s button down, but neither of them seem to care.

 

“I love you, too.” Bittle replies, and Jack trusts him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @ocdhawkeye and twitter @mythgrunge !


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